


of two evils

by dawnstruck



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Asphyxiation, Choking, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Fuck Or Die, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, Knife Play, M/M, Minor Character Death, Sex at gun point, Trigger Warnings, Voyeurism, breath play, please procede with caution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-16 01:13:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13625436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnstruck/pseuds/dawnstruck
Summary: When they had come in and closed the door behind them, Haizaki had already been there, waiting in the dark of the apartment. There's no telling how he had gotten in, how long he has been there, since when he had been planning this, but all of those questions seem irrelevant.The fact is that Haizaki Shogo is lounging in Kise's plush armchair, looking like an extra from a low-budget gangster movie and very casually holding a gun in his right hand.





	of two evils

**Author's Note:**

> This is was written, completely unplanned, for a very special someone. I apologize in advance.
> 
> Please let me know if you think that I should be any tags/warnings!

When they had come in and closed the door behind them, Haizaki had already been there, waiting in the dark of the apartment. There's no telling how he had gotten in, how long he has been there, since when he had been planning this, but all of those questions seem irrelevant.

The fact is that Haizaki Shogo is lounging in Kise's plush armchair, looking like an extra from a low-budget gangster movie and very casually holding a gun in his right hand.

He had obviously expected Kise's return, though Aomine's presence must have come as a bit of a surprise. Haizaki just rolled with it, but Aomine shudders to think what he might had done had he found Kise alone.

Now, as they sit on the floor, held captive by one of their former teammates, Aomine wonders where Haizaki got the gun and if he really knows how to handle it. Wonders whether there are tattoos snaking along his torso and whether he is really as trigger happy as the mad glint in his eyes seems to suggest.

They hadn't seen each other since their second year in high school. The last he had heard was that, according to Satsuki, Haizaki had dropped out of school and then off the face of the earth. Occasionally, Aomine had still thought of him, but only with a fickle kind of anger. Haizaki had been a menace, even at fifteen years old, and Aomine could do the math on where life would take him.

But none of that was ever meant to concern him. Now he is proven wrong.

Kise had tried negotiating at first. Had presented sensible arguments and repercussions. Had promised to just let this slide if Haizaki simply left. Had joked and challenged to a one-on-one. Had offered large sums of money.

But it became more and more apparent that Haizaki would not leave before he had gotten what he had come for - some vague and delusion idea of revenge for a slight from year ago.

Aomine's and Kise's thighs are touching where they are kneeling side by side on the floor. It's a poor comfort, but it's something.

The night had not been supposed to go this way.

They had grabbed a couple of drinks, had caught up on each other's lives, both of them busy with university and only getting to see each other every couple of months. Aomine complained about professors, Kise told stories from his recent modeling gig in Europe and it had gotten late enough for Aomine to miss the last bus.

It's okay, Aominecchi, Kise had offered generously. Just come over and sleep at my place.

If either of you screams, Haizaki had said the moment they turned on the lights, I'm going to put a bullet through his pretty head.

By now, Kise has run out of words. He sits with his hands clenched around his knees and a stoic mask on his face, but Aomine can tell there's rage boiling underneath. That's good. Kise Ryouta is not easily cowed.

Haizaki, on the other hand, merely seemed amused by Kise's attempts to sway him. If anything, it probably only intensified his power high.

“Now,” he says, getting more comfortable in the armchair, “Let's get to the fun bits, yeah?”

Aomine swallows, hoping the nervous bob of his Adam's apple is not too obvious.

“I actually wanted to do this myself,” Haizaki says, pulling something out of his pocket. “But I guess this is even more hilarious.”

He places the object by his feet and then kicks it so it skitters across the floor and lands in front of Aomine. It's a switchblade, small and shiny and still harmless with its blade tucked away. Aomine knows what's coming before Haizaki even continues.

“Carve up his pretty face a little,” he says with a careless nod toward a rapidly paling Kise. “Let's see how much his little fans will love him then.”

“Fuck you,” Aomine says because there are no other words for this.

Haizaki just lifts his gun, angles it toward Kise, smoothly running along the line of his body – his thigh, his belly, his chest, his head. At sixteen, Haizaki had seen no issue in potentially crippling Kise; now he doesn't mind killing him.

“Pick up the knife,” he says simply and Aomine doesn't know how to resist.

He has never handled a switchblade before. It's smooth underneath his fingers but it still feels awkward. When he pushes the small button that activates the mechanism and the blade jumps free, he almost drops it out of reflex.

Haizaki chuckles at his ineptitude, but doesn't bother to comment. Aomine grabs the hilt more firmly and then turns toward Kise.

“Aominecchi,” Kise says tightly. The nickname sounds ridiculous, given the severity of the situation.

It's difficult to look him in the eye.

“I'm not going to let him kill you,” Aomine says because, by now, he doesn't doubt that Haizaki would.

Kise clenches his eyes shut when Aomine tangles the fingers of his free hand in his hair and tugs him closer. It feels painfully intimate, like going in for a kiss. Kise blows out a harsh breath through his nose when the metal touches him.

At least the blade is sharp. The edge of it easily slides down Kise's cheek, leaving a thin trail of red, though shallow enough that it would not permanently scar his skin. Or so Aomine hopes.

“Yeah,” Haizaki says, leaning forward to watch more closely. “Keep going.”

It's an effort to keep his hand steady, even as Kise sits frozen, like a bunny in a snare. Very carefully, Aomine angles the tip of the blade into Kise's nostril and makes another small cut.

Kise grunts in pain and a gush of blood spills out, immediately coating his lips and running down his chin. It would hurt some, Aomine knows, but it would not disfigure him, and perhaps Haizaki would be satisfied with this much.

“Lick the blood from his face.”

It's said breathily, hungrily, and Aomine does not want to think about what that means. He lowers the knife, pulls Kise even closer, nervously licks his dry lips. Then he runs his tongue along Kise's damp cheek.

Kise only whimpers.

“What does it taste like?” Haizaki demands and Aomine is torn between wanting to spit and trying to keep down the bile.

“Like blood,” he says flatly.

“Be more specific.”

“Metallic,” Aomine tries to explain because what the hell is the bastard expecting? “Bitter.”

“Not so sweet on the inside, huh, Ryouta?” Haizaki says and laughs as though he had made a riveting joke. Totally unhinged, Aomine thinks, and doesn't know whether that makes it better or worse.

Worse, it turns out only a few moments later. So much worse.

Haizaki snaps his fingers at him, like spoiled rich kid at a servant.

“Cut him out of his clothes,” he says without preamble, and Aomine stills.

“You heard me,” Haizaki warns. “So hurry up.”

Before Aomine can actually do anything, though, he is stopped again.

“Not the shirt,” Haizaki instructs. “Just rip it open.”

Aomine does not look at Kise as he sets the knife aside. He doesn't look at him as he tightly grips Kise's collar on both sides and pulls it apart. The first few buttons pop off easily, but then Aomine has to readjust his hands as he moves lower. His biceps barely strains under the effort but his breath is coming a little unsteady.

It had been a warm day and Kise is not wearing an undershirt. His nipples as rosy, much lighter than Aomine's own. They've seen each other change hundreds of times but Aomine had never paid attention to that before. Now he cannot look anywhere else.

“Good,” Haizaki praises. “Now his pants. Use the knife.”

Aomine does. Cutting through the fabric of the slacks is much more difficult. Kise has to shuffle awkwardly as to not accidentally get sliced up in the progress. They do it mechanically, efficiently, with minimal touching, as though that would make it any better.

“His panties, too,” Haizaki says derisively and Aomine swallows but reaches out to hook one finger into the waistband and then carefully cut along the seam of Kise's shorts.

It's crazy. It's crazy. It feels like so much longer but, less than half an hour ago, Aomine had still been hanging off Kise's shoulder, laughing at a joke he no longer remembers as they made their way up the stairs to the apartment. Now, Kise is being exposed underneath the blade of a knife Aomine is holding and it's as though he were only watching it from the outside, like a terrible terrible nightmare.

By now, the flow of blood from Kise's nostril has almost stopped, but the red has run all the way down his neck, collecting in the dip of his collarbone, like a kind of abstract painting. And Kise has never been ashamed of his body, has never had a reason to, but now he keeps his arms crossed in front of himself, feebly trying to maintain some of his modesty.

Haizaki, of course, is having none of that.

“Get him on his knees,” he tells Aomine impatiently, with another casual gesture of the gun barrel, so Aomine obeys, manhandling Kise around, though Kise complies easily enough, probably knowing full well that it's easier than fighting back.

“That's right,” Haizaki drawls. “Show us your gorgeous ass, Ryouta.”

His gaze greedily cuts along the curves of Kise's body, the muscular thighs, the rounded ass cheeks, even as Aomine stares off to the side. Haizaki seems to notice his evasiveness and gives a slow calculated smile.

“Fuck him with your fingers,” he says and Aomine's spine feels hollowed out.

“No,” he says, his voice shaking.

Haizaki sucks in a breath through his teeth, an expression of feigned sympathy on his face.

“It really seems like you are intent on dying here, Aomine-kun,” he says, sounding almost like Aomine’s math teacher once had when she told him that, if he didn't put in more effort, she would be forced to fail him.

Aomine wars with himself. He's been with girls before, he's not a fucking virgin, but there's a difference between fingering a quietly moaning girl he's been going out with for a couple of weeks and violating one of his best friends in front of an unpredictable madman.

“Sometime today would be nice,” Haizaki whistles innocently. “Unless you want the gun to go up his ass instead. Or the knife.”

The threat is effective enough. Aomine's body shudders into motion and then he is reaching for Kise again, putting his cold hands on his hips, and the touch feels like a shock.

“Lube,” Kise chokes out, before anything else can happen. “Th-there's lube in the bedside drawer.”

Aomine stills, throws a sideways glance at Haizaki who seems to consider it for a moment.

“Oh, whatever,” he says, waving a hand as though it were no big deal. “But one wrong move and I'm blowing his brains out.”

Aomine stumbles to his feet. His legs nearly buckle under him after having knelt for so long, or maybe that's just the adrenaline making him dizzy. He barely feels the ground underneath his feet.

The bed stands in the corner of the room and he quickly rifles through the topmost drawer of the bedside table. There are tissues, some cash, a phone charger, two packets with contact lenses, a small tube of lavender-scented hand lotion, the wrapper from Kise's favorite kind of Pocky. It's so innocent, innocuous, incongruous with this entire situation.

He finds the bottle of lube alongside an unopened pack of ribbed condoms and for a moment he stares. Then he grabs just the lube and makes his way back to the scene of the crime.

Kise is still kneeling on all fours, but his arms are trembling and his head his bowed, hair falling into his face. He looks defeated and, somehow, that's the worst thing about all this.

Aomine lowers himself back down onto the floor with something more like a crash, but he flips open the lid of the bottle and squeezes some of the lubricant onto his fingers. It's clear and scentless and he's grateful for it. If there were some artificial cherry smell or something, he'd probably throw up.

He knows the lube is cold, but he doesn't dare to keep Haizaki waiting any longer. Kise doesn't flinch when he is being touched, but he does clench up when Aomine's finger prods at him.

Relax, Aomine wants to tell him, but it seems like an awful thing to say, so he just rubs his thumb in a circular motion until he's able to slowly dip it in inside.

He tries not to think about his actions, tries to divorce the motions from the visuals. He is looking at Kise, at his ass, his hole, but he doesn't really see anything. He's blinded by shock and for that he is grateful, too.

“Do it properly,” Haizaki chides with an impatient click of his tongue, so Aomine does, pushes his thumb in deeper, pulls out again, uses his index, and then his middle finger as well.

He's never done anal before. He doesn't know how careful he has to be, how to angle his fingers, but Kise grunts and squirms, widening his stance a little.

“Look at the little bitch,” Haizaki laughs. “Seems to like it well enough, doesn't he?”

Faintly, Aomine hopes that Kise is more experienced. That this is not his first time, that some part of him might be able to enjoy it, no matter how impossible that sounds.

Haizaki, on the other hand, is openly enjoying the show, pressing his palm against his own crotch in rhythm with the thrusts of Aomine's fingers, as though he were imagining himself fucking Kise.

This is better, Aomine tells himself. This is just me. At least I'm gentle.

“Enough,” Haizaki says suddenly and it should be a relief but it only means that something worse will follow.

“Ryouta,” Haizaki says, the first instruction he has given Kise. “Take off Aomine's clothes.”

Shakily, Kise turns around. There are angry tears on his face mixed in with the congealing blood, leaving maroon streaks in their wake.

“Told you so,” Haizaki laughs, leering down at Kise's groin. “He likes this shit.”

Between Kise's legs, nestled against his thigh, is Kise's cock, half-hard and like a damning kind of evidence. Physical stimulus, Aomine knows. The rush of blood and adrenaline. He's popped a boner often enough while playing basketball to know there's nothing sordid about it.

“Have you ever told him about your puppy crush, Ryouta?” Haizaki taunts. “You'd think he'd have noticed the way you trailed after him in middle school, but the idiot's always been oblivious. Think he's catching on now?”

Kise's face, marred though it may, sits still like porcelain, like a bastardized kind of kintsugi, and so Aomine tries not to react to the words either, to not let them drip into his thoughts like an oil spill.

Instead, he allows it to happen as Kise tentatively reaches for the hem of his t-shirt, beginning to lift it.

“Do it like you want him,” Haizaki urges. “Like you're desperate for it.”

For a moment, Kise's eyes close. When he opens them again, he looks defiant. He tugs Aomine's shirt up almost violently, pulls it over his head. The collar painfully catches on Aomine's ears, even as he lifts his arms, but he doesn't complain. He has no right.

Kise tosses the shirt aside and goes for Aomine's belt instead, undoing it with swift fingers as though he had done it a thousand times already. The leather snaps, the metal of the buckle chinks. Kise unbuttons and unzips the front of Aomine's jeans and some of the pressure lifts.

“Well, would you look at that,” Haizaki whistles. “Seems like loverboy has been enjoying himself as well.”

Aomine bites the inside of his cheek. He hadn't even noticed but, much like Kise, he is half-erect, his cock a noticeable bulge against his black underwear.

“Good, good.” Haizaki smacks a palm against his knee. “This is perfect.”

His chuckles again, massages himself through his sweatpants.

“Aomine,” he says huskily. “Shove your cock in his ass.”

The order does not come as surprise. Aomine thinks that, on a subconscious level, he had already expected it the moment Haizaki pointed his grin at them the way he did his gun barrel.

There's no escape from this. There's nothing but death and that is not an option.

Aomine surrenders.

“There- there were condoms in the-” he tries, only to be cut off.

“Uh-uh,” Haizaki shakes his head. “No love, no glove. You're fucking him bare. Or do you think you might catch something from him? With a face like his, he's probably let people stick it in him left and right.”

Aomine wonders how Kise manages to make it look as though the insults do not affect him. But perhaps the damage is only being done underneath the surface, wreaking havoc on his heart. Kise has always been a proud person; to him, the humiliation might be worse than even the physical pain.

“Lie down,” Aomine says quietly, helping Kise to settle down on the floor. He waits for Haizaki to object, to demand some other position, but he doesn't. Kise stares up at the ceiling as Aomine shuffles to kneel between his spread legs but, when Aomine pushes down his underwear the rest of the way, his gaze lands between the two of them, as though drawn there by a morbid kind of curiosity.

“Don't look,” Aomine says, placing a hand above Kise's eyes while his other aligns his cock. “Don't- don't think about it too much.”

Then he pushes in.

He does it slowly, as slowly as he dares without igniting more of Haizaki's ire. It's tight and not wet enough, so he pulls pack a little before he presses back in, does it a couple of times until he bottoms out. His fully hard now, he's hard and fucking Kise, and he knows these kind of things sometimes happen when the night is late and there is alcohol involved, but this is not how it should go.

“Just do it,” Kise says. His chest jumps with an inhale, but his arms lay limp at his sides, not touching Aomine, neither to pull him in nor to push him away.

“You heard him,” Haizaki snorts. “Just do it.”

So Aomine does. Angles his hips a little and then snap his hips forward, hard enough to make Kise budge on the hardwood floor. Kise's breath catches but other than that he makes no sound, no matter how many times Aomine drives back into him, and Haizaki quickly grows bored again.

“Put your hands on his neck,” he demands hungrily. “And then choke him. Fucking choke him like he's begging for it.”

Kise's neck is still somewhat damp with blood as Aomine circles his fingers around it. He feels the flaky bits of it against his palm, settling in the creases of his skin, as though he were leaving fingerprints on his victim.

He isn't sure how to do this. He knows pressing down on Kise's jugular will do actual damage, so he finds his pulse his instead, tightens his grip until Kise gasps.

And finally, Kise fights back. Clenches his hands around Aomine's wrists, bucking his hips and trying to throw him off. His mouth falls open, his eyes wide with panic as he stares up at Aomine.

“Keep fucking him,” Haizaki says, as though Aomine weren't doing that already, and now it's obvious what this is all about.

Haizaki wants to see Kise struggle. He wants the dichotomy of force versus desire. He wants a violent fantasy played out in front of his eyes.

Aomine loosens his grasp a little, lets Kise suck in a wheezing breath, his skull pressing back against the floorboards.

“Make him come,” Haizaki hisses only. He's got his free hand shoved down the front of his pants now, jerking himself off with quick twists of his wrist. “If you don't make him come, I'm going to fucking shoot the both of you.”

“C'mon, c'mon,” Aomine murmurs desperately, rolling his hips, even as the small of his back begins to ache with the strain of it. They cannot fail now, not after all that has happened. He doesn't know what Haizaki will do after, whether he will just disappear or murder them despite their compliance. But they have to try.

“Please,” Aomine whispers. His hands are still on Kise's neck, but his thumbs are caressing his jaw. “Pretend- pretend he isn't here. Pretend it's just the two of us and we had some drinks and I kissed you outside the door. Pretend you invited me in.”

If Haizaki's words were true, if Kise had once upon a time harbored a crush for Aomine, then maybe it would be easier to drown himself in the lie that he wants this. Aomine doesn't know. He cannot ask.

Kise's eyes are shut again. Even through the blood still on his skin, his face is a little flushed with the effort of it all. Aomine can relate. His body feels very hot, although his extremities seem be to freezing. He concentrates of the feeling of Kise around him instead, tries to pay attention which angle has Kise's mouth droop openly slightly and, when he finds it, he drives into him like that, his still clothed knees scrambling for leverage on the smooth floor.

“A-Aominecchi,” Kise breathes, the first word he has spoken in half an eternity, and then his hips jerk upward and he comes between their bellies, abrupt and with a pained little moan.

“Yeah,” Haizaki groans, tilting his head as he, too, nears his orgasm. “Yeah, give it to him good.”

It's difficult. It's as though, the more Aomine chases it, the more it gets way from him. But this has been going on for too long already, and he is exhausted, he is just so done, and he clenches his jaw, allows the heat to pool low in his stomach.

“Come inside of him,” Haizaki says and his breath is coming short now. “Shoot your load in his ass.”

When Aomine comes, it's like a surrender. There's no satisfaction that connected to it, no rush of endorphins. Just the cold sobering truth of reality.

Off to the side, Haizaki climaxes with a long drawn out moan that morphs into an elated laugh toward the end.

When Aomine opens his eyes again, Kise is already looking at him. They only need a moment to communicate and then it's as though they had planned this from the very beginning.

They are up on their feet in a frantic heartbeat, Kise grabbing the fallen switchblade as Aomine throws himself at Haizaki in the armchair, wrangles the gun from his loose grip, before wresting his head back by the hair, the other arm braced across his chest.

“Fuck,” Haizaki curses and now it's him who pales, him who sees no escape. He struggles in Aomine's arms but, without his weapons, it's just two against one. "You fucker wouldn't dare."

Kise is a wild sight, stark naked but covered in blood and semen, a filthy blade in his hand, and it's insanity that Haizaki would have thought he could break him.

“Do it,” Aomine grunts, digging his knee into the small of Haizaki's back to keep him in check.

Kise does not hesitate. The edge of the blade is slightly blunted after having cut through the clothes, but this is not meant to be painless. The steel slices through Haizaki's flesh and sinew, and the breath that goes out of him is more of a wet gurgle, red hot blood gushing out of the wound and all over Kise's manicured hands.

After the excruciating torture he had put them through, Haizaki Shogo's death is almost peaceful. His body goes limp and he sacks down, his expiration quickly followed by the stench of urine.

Aomine lets go of him and takes a step back, watching as his corpse heavily drops to the floor. The gun is still lying innocently on the cushion of the armchair and Aomine feels the sick urge to reach out and check whether it is actually loaded or whether it had just been a useless prop all along.

It doesn't matter. What's done is done.

He wants to take a shower, but the still functioning part of his brain knows that they might need the evidence, that they'll have to call the police and give statements, that they still have a very long night ahead of him.

Because, even if it was in self-defense, he and Kise had still killed someone, and he suspects that it will haunt him for the rest of his life. For now though, he just wipes a hand across his face and puts on a helpless grimace that might pass for a smile.

“I hope you have good lawyers,” he says, catching Kise’s gaze.

Kise's lips purse in response but then he lets the knife clatter to the floor and juts out his chin.

“I'm a celebrity,” he says, somehow managing to sound only half as broken as Aomine feels. “I have the _best_ lawyers.”

Perhaps they'd survive after all.

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

> “ _Constantly choosing the lesser of two evils is still choosing evil.”_
> 
> _Jerry Garcia_

 

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, that happened. For first knb story in 1,5 years and this is what it ends up being. Poor darlings. But if you made it to the end, that probably means you sick bastards liked it, too. So at least I'm not alone. :)


End file.
